


teeth and lungs lined with the scum of it

by Charrelous



Series: dulled my claws with your song [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Werewolves, not abo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charrelous/pseuds/Charrelous
Summary: Jaskier had spent all of the winter healing with Geralt in Kaer Morhen, but that fleeting safety has come to an end. Calanthe has summoned Geralt and Jaskier to Cintra so that she can hear of the horrors of the Gulet pack and see this Omega with her own eyes.But that is not the only reason they are being summoned to Cintra. Calanthe is searching for her granddaughter, and she believes that Geralt is the only one who can find her.Around them, the world turns, and humans are learning more about the supernatural than they intend. Truths must be revealed, before they are forced into the light.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: dulled my claws with your song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656166
Comments: 19
Kudos: 100





	teeth and lungs lined with the scum of it

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! The motivation for this was long in coming. But I found it!!
> 
> This is the second part of the series, and I highly recommend that you read the first installment first.
> 
> The first chapter is rather fluffy, to make up for my bullying in the last part! Please enjoy the cheer!
> 
> As always, I love you all! Feel free to comment below, I love talking to you all!!!

_ She dreams. She dreams, and they haunt her in the waking world like loyal hounds, panting and waiting for any acknowledgement. She knows that if she offers so much as a glance, waking and dreaming will blend beyond recognition, leaving her trapped in this nightmare. _

_ Trapped? _

_ Where is she? _

_ She screams but there is no sound. She moves but cannot feel. _

_ Where is she? Where is she? _

_ There is no name. There is no identity. No personality. She is not here, but she is, she is, she is real but she knows nothing at all. _

_ Something ties her to something like reality. Is it real? What difference does it have from her dreams? _

_ Her wails are silent, and she knows she is alone. _

* * *

Tracking his prey was not the hard part. The target ran along the ramparts of Kaer Morhen, sweat sprinkling the ground and heart pumping with life. After everything Geralt had taught him, hunting was almost as easy as breathing. With three months in a mountain castle with no one to socialize with but grumpy  _ Witchers _ , Jaskier had thrown himself into learning with reckless abandon.

The hard part was the acting. The pounce. Coiled in the shadows, with his prey clouded with anger, he knew he wouldn’t be spotted. He fought the urge to dig his claws into the stone, to give himself away with the scrape of sound.

He had to do this.

Why Geralt was so angry was no mystery to him. Even if he hadn’t been a werewolf, he would’ve been able to hear Vesemir and Geralt screaming at each other until their voices had grown hoarse (impressive, for werewolves).

__ It was a matter of respect that Vesemir hadn’t forced Geralt to obey. Alpha he may be, but stupid Vesemir was not. He listened, even as he berated. If Geralt and the Alpha hadn’t had such fiery tempers, perhaps the discussion would’ve gone better.

Spring was here, visible in the song of birds and the warming light. Not enough to melt all the snow (impossible, he was sure), but enough to rouse the Witcher pack from their abode, enough to send them out to deal with the problems of the world.

Instead of returning to the Path, however, Vesemir had told Geralt he was going somewhere else. To Cintra.

Within Cintra lay the Cintra pack, headed by Alpha Calanthe. Amongst wolves, she was Queen. When it came to supernatural politics, she represented the werewolves, and she handled all the pack Alphas across the continent. And, most important to the current issue, she handled all Omegas.

And while the Witchers were apart from Calanthe’s rule, her goodwill was of the utmost precedence. They would cater to her desires. 

Her most recent desire was to have Jaskier presented to her, where she could see the newest Omega the Witchers had rescued from one of her packs. She wished to hear what the pack of Gulet had committed from the Witcher’s own mouth, and see the results.

Geralt, of course, hated politics. He didn’t want to go dance before the Queen, to appease her whims. He certainly didn’t want to haul Jaskier to Cintra.

Vesemir had responded by telling Geralt that there would be no good reason for Calanthe to keep an Omega with the Witchers, unless they were mated. Since they were most certainly not mated (not for Jaskier’s lack of trying), he would be moved where the Queen needed him most.

The very thought had his wolf growling, just as it had Geralt’s. No, the two of them weren’t mated, but their wolves had. All reverse instead of the proper way of things. 

If he could successfully convince the man that Geralt was something  _ he  _ wanted, not that his wolf was forcing him into, there would be less of an issue. But in the three months they’ve spent with each other, Jaskier had rather swiftly learned that Geralt had the emotional grip of colt, and the understanding of human courtship of a snail.

In fact, a snail might be more adept, just from observation.

It would be easier if Geralt himself had shown a bit of interest in return. Rather, Geralt was instead  _ himself _ , terribly cranky but unfathomably kind, and it drove Jaskier mad with affection and feral frustration. 

Though he’d be damned if he admitted it, he’d considered taking Eskel’s tactics of venting and sneaking a piss on those lovely Witcher boots.

And now the Witcher was all wound up, angry but unwilling to duke it out with the Alpha  _ again _ (since the Witcher very stubbornly insisted that Calanthe should have no power over the Witcher pack, since they themselves were not of her ilk, but Jaskier had been one of her wolves long before being the Witchers’), running along the ramparts like a pup in fresh from training. Or so Vesemir would say. Jaskier had never seen a pup, besides himself when he had been bitten.

Music wasn’t working, not with both the man and the wolf angry. So Jaskier would help the best way he knew how.

By being an absolute nuisance. 

Feet pounding closer, controlled panting, and Jaskier tightened his muscles, butt wiggling in anticipation. Geralt would’ve scolded him for the movement, but Geralt couldn’t see him. His mouth lolled open in a feral smile, baring large teeth to the air in his excitement.

White hair flashed past his hiding spot, and Jaskier struck.

Dark brown fur and black clothing tumbled together in a mirthful blend as the pair of them rolled. Calloused hands grasped at his ruff, but Jaskier hooked his claws into the clothing, growling loud like a wild beast and spraying drool all over both pelt and shirt. They ended in a sprawl on the beaten stone, Geralt on his back and Jaskier on his belly, paws holding his chest to the ground as he “killed” the Witcher’s shirt.

Apart from the initial sound of impact, the Witcher had remained silent, and under the attack had gone perfectly limp. A quick glance revealed a dead expression, eyes blank at the sky. He’d even stuck his tongue out for good measure. Yennefer would never believe him.

Prick.

The stench of rage still simmered in the air, but softer, salt thrown in the water to keep it from over boiling. Time to press his advantage. 

He stuck his cold nose directly into the Witcher’s exposed stomach.

Sure enough, the grasping hands came back with a gasp, and Geralt flipped them over with a breathless growl, all air and light rumble.

“Fuck, Jaskier!” 

Jaskier only grinned up at him, tongue flopped over the side of his face. Geralt looked a proper mess, covered in drool and dust. And, oh? Was that a smile? Just a little bit? A twitch of one?

Surely he was in a  _ better _ mood, since he indulged him at the beginning. He smelled it, at least.

Geralt growled, pulling on his best intimidating face.

Jaskier licked his nose, wriggling free before Geralt could retaliate. They were going to  _ play _ , god damn it! So the Witcher would loosen up, even a little.

Behind him, Geralt roared his fury. “Jaskier! I know where that tongue has been!” Footfalls, as the Witcher ran after him. Jaskier pinned his ears back as he ran, just to let Geralt know how he felt about that. He had just wanted to see if he could reach, just like he’d seen all dogs do.

Turns out, he can, but that’s besides the point.

Jaskier leapt down from the ramparts to the stairs heading below, Witcher on his tail, and thought that perhaps, this would be the only dominant wolf he would feel comfortable being chased by.

The past few months learning with Geralt and Vesemir and the other Witchers, that had been a dream. And they had given him space to heal, comfort when he sought it. In their eyes, he wasn’t the broken shell of a man he’d thought he was.

He was a survivor. A warrior. His battles were different than theirs, but he had won all the same.

Geralt just wouldn’t be the only one raising it. Omegas bowed to the dominance of no one.

His last thought before he ran into Yennefer was  _ oh, I need to look where I’m going. _

There was no graceful pounce, a hunter bringing down prey. There was only the mess of claws, dress, wolf and woman, falling to the floor, her shriek scalding his ears like the wail of a banshee.

_ “Jaskier!” _

Oh, now that wasn’t fair. It could’ve been anybody. He peeked his head out from her dress to grin up at her, going for his best puppy face. It had swindled Geralt often enough, the idiot man, but-

Yennefer grabbed his ear and twisted, earning herself the yelp of a pained wolf. Geralt didn’t even stop her, the bastard. He’d thought they were friends, even if he hadn’t won him over in other regards!

“Geralt, come get your beast. I thought you were teaching him some manners,” she growled, much like a wolf herself.

The brute scooped him up like his wolf form was nothing, and Jaskier huffed out a sigh. Rolling in Yennefer’s scent was pure bliss. She always reeked of dead things, and something in him made him want to cover himself in it.

He understood, really, why Geralt had slept with her in the past. Loved her, even. She was such a delightful bitch. He’d told her so, on one of their Skype calls. More specifically, when she had informed him that the winter clothing he’d ordered was long out of fashion. As though he would know that, trapped in the  _ mountains _ with an internet connection that allowed one person access at a time.

Jaskier opened his mouth to make some sort of god awful noise, just to tell her what he thought of being called a beast, but Geralt gripped his muzzle shut and answered in his stead. “Yen? Why are you here?”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes as she got to her feet, brushing off the dirt. “Oh, no ‘hello, Yen, it’s been a while,’ or ‘Nice to see you, Yen’?”

“Hello, Yen, it’s been a while,” Geralt monotoned, watching her rise. He didn’t help her up, Jaskier noted. Likely because he wanted to keep his hand. “What are you doing here?”

Yennefer twisted on her heel and led the way inside, muttering curses to herself. They weren’t actual curses. He hoped. Only when she was settled in a chair with some coffee did she give them an answer. 

“You’re going to Cintra, are you not?” she offered.

Geralt stiffened where he stood, wolf still in his arms. Jaskier let out a moan, flopping his head back. He had been hoping he had gotten the Witcher to relax, but if this was going to be the subject of discussion…

Yennefer waved her hand even as Geralt bared a bit of teeth. “Oh, don’t growl at me. I figured one of you Kaer Morhen wolves might be, and Jaskier might be useful in this situation.” She rolled her eyes at the word useful, and Jaskier hastily revised whose shoes he was pissing on.

But Geralt had latched on to something else. “One of us Kaer Morhen wolves?” He wrinkled his nose, just a little. “We’re just going to Cintra to present Jaskier to Calanthe. To tell her that he’s to stay with us.”

If he’d been human, he’d have said exactly how that would go over with any dominant wolf. He didn’t know Calanthe, but he knew Alphas. One didn’t get away with  _ telling _ . Even if you were a Witcher. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Yennefer snorted as she reclined in her chair. “Oh, so you’re telling the Queen of Wolves what to do now? No, that’s not what I mean.” She paused, letting the silence become pregnant. When it didn’t give birth to realization, she quirked an eyebrow. “Geralt? Please tell me you knew?”

Geralt growled in response. “Obviously not.”

“Geralt.” She took a deep breath, and Jaskier realized, with bone deep clarity, that he wouldn’t like this at all. “You won’t be the only ones visiting Calanthe. She’s hosting a council. Where every Alpha and supernatural being is welcome to attend.”

And any sense of surety, of comfort, of safety, dropped out from Jaskier’s feet, as though he hadn’t healed at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thank yous for reading! If you enjoyed and want to read more, let me know!!! <3


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